Fever
by GxK
Summary: Kartik is ill, and Gemma takes it upon herself to care for him. Lots of Emily envy, delusional dreams, and perhaps a Simon sighting. Plotless fluff. Karma. Rated T just in case. Please R&R!
1. Envy

**Hello, everyone. I finally got off my lazy butt and wrote something! Okay, so this fic is just something that came out of an irrational desire to write a very sick and consequently very cuddly Kartik. It takes place the summer after Gemma graduates from Spence. **

**Special thanks to LunaEquus for all the help, and much love to my best friend Naz for everything to do with this fic, especially enduring the constant "Here, read this part. Does it work? Is it plausible? Do you like it? Is it ooc? Is it? IS IT?" :D You guys rock.**

**If I were Libba Bray, I would not have had to endure my very strange Biology teacher's annoyingly peppy lectures while writing much of this fic. Needless, to say, I'm not, and I did.**

**Oh, and there is no system for my alternating POVs. I just switch whenever I feel like it. :D Enjoy!**

"Father, where is Mr. Kartik with the carriage? I'll be late to work." Tom paces the parlor, looking harassed at the very thought of a black mark against him where he is no doubt thought perfectly punctual. Heaven forbid the lunatics be forced to wait a few minutes on my beastly brother.

Father sits opposite me, ignoring Tom's pacing as he reads the newspaper and has a cup of tea. His condition has improved drastically after the combined stay at the sanitarium and my second magical attempt at healing him. Without looking up from his paper, he replies, "You'll have to hire a hansom, Thomas. Mr. Kartik has taken ill."

"Ill?" I hear myself repeat, looking up from _Pride and Prejudice_. Tom grabs his coat and hat and rushes out the door, a murderous expression on his face.

"Yes, I sent the poor fellow to the mews yesterday evening. Tried to tell me he was fine, fit for work." Father frowns thoughtfully. "I'm rather afraid it's influenza. We certainly wouldn't want that spreading. I sent a maid to check on him this morning."

"If you would excuse me, Papa, I've a sampler to finish," I say abruptly, referring to my dreadfully dull needlepoint, closing my book and standing.

"Yes, of course, dear." Father smiles at me. Sometimes these days, I feel almost as if I've the old Father back.

I exit the parlor and make my way out of the house, careful that no one sees me on my way to the stables. Finally, I enter a small room off the carriage house.

He is asleep on his bed in the tiny room, but he wakes when I close the door, despite my effort to do so quietly.

"Miss—Doyle?" He squints at me, as it's very dim. However, he seems to realize it is me, for he sits up rather quickly. I blush when I realize that he is not wearing a shirt.

"Father mentioned you were ill," I explain quickly. "Are you feeling alright?"

He leans over to light a lamp on his nightstand. Light floods the room, and I sit uninvited on the end of the bed. "Yes," he finally replies, hoarsely. "Much better." He coughs violently, and I find it hard to believe him. He is flushed and looks feverish and absolutely miserable.

"I'm terribly sorry," I say, ignoring his claims to feel "better". "Father said he thought it could be influenza."

Kartik lies back again and seems to consider this.

I look around the tiny room. There isn't much: a small wardrobe, a single window, the bed, an out-of-place bucket, and a nightstand. On the nightstand sit a single, framed photograph, the lamp, matches, and a tray with Kartik's untouched breakfast.

The tray seems to fill my stomach with ice, and I hear myself say with a false cheerfulness, "Oh, someone's brought you breakfast. Did the cook deliver it to you? She's so very…congenial." I see something flit across his face at my word choice, and I am not surprised. I have amazed even myself at my boldness, or rather, my cheek.

He hesitates a bit too long before answering, "No, Emily brought it to me."

"Emily?" I say, acting confused, as if I don't know exactly who Emily is.

"The maid," he explains rather flatly.

"Oh," I reply frostily. I should drown in this jealousy. I stand abruptly. "Well, you should eat it, then. I'm sure she's prepared it especially for you." The bitterness in my voice is plain, but I just can't seem to control it. "I should go. Wouldn't want to catch anything from you." This last bit, and the venom it holds, is simply too much, and I know it. Before he can reply, I sweep out the door.

Back in my room, I flop onto my bed and bury my face in my pillow, thinking of Emily chatting merrily with him, perhaps sitting exactly where I had. What is so special about Emily? Why doesn't Kartik think of me the way he surely thinks of her?

I let out a frustrated sigh. Really, this isn't Kartik's fault. It is, in fact, completely Emily's. How dare she fawn over Kartik and bring him breakfast in bed? Who is she that Kartik should be hers to care for? I shall show her.

**So...you know you wanna review! I will try to update at least once a week, but I can't promise anything. If I don't update, you can blame it on my hateful teachers for giving me a ridiculous amount of homework. D:**


	2. Payback

**Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed and/or put this fic on their alert or favorites! You guys make me feel so special:D So, since I got five reviews, (Four, really; one of them was my crazy** **friend. But close enough! And yes, I mean you, Chris.) I decided to go ahead and update!**

**Kartik's POV:**

_I can see them through the library window, Gemma looking like a goddess in her elegant blue gown with a rose pinned in her hair. She seems to glow as she glides about the room, followed by that __Muddleton__ fellow. He never once takes his awful, hungry eyes off her. I shouldn't be surprised if they were to bulge right out of his overlarge head like a fish's. In fact, he rather seems to remind me of a fish…no, he _is_ a fish. Or, rather, he has the head of one._

_This can't be right. I shake my head in an attempt to clear it, but when I look into the room again, he hasn't changed. And now Gemma's head startlingly resembles a giraffe's. Actually, there is no resemblance involved. She literally has the head of a giraffe instead of her own. Yet, the scene continues exactly as I remember it: Gemma's rose slips as they begin to exit the library, __Muddleton__ reaches to fix it, their fingers touch, and Gemma turns away, blushing. Then the fop boldly continues and rights the flower, both of them with the heads of animals…_

_However, as I pick up the first rock, completely prepared to tear the __tosser__ to pieces, Gemma turns to look straight at me, her eyes that stunning green even in giraffe form. "Kartik? Kartik!" she calls. I drop the rock, my rage abating as she calls my name again in a gentle, motherly tone. "Kartik! Wake up!"_

_Wake up? I am not asleep…am I?_

"Oh, good. You were talking in your sleep, Kartik, something about…Simon, I think." Gemma sits beside me, on the edge of my bed, looking very concerned and slightly confused. "You're so very flush. Do you have a fever?" Without waiting for an answer, she puts a hand to my forehead. Her pale skin is cool against my own. My eyes close, seemingly of their own accord, at her comforting touch. "Oh, dear, you're burning up, Kartik. Here," she says gently, and I feel a cool wetness pressed against my forehead. I open my eyes to find that she has a wet cloth and is now dabbing my face with it. She leans forward a bit, bringing her exposed décolletage into full view. I know she has not done this intentionally, but that doesn't stop me from staring until she says, with something more than curiosity in her voice, "What were you dreaming about?"

"Er…pardon?" My eyes snap guiltily to her face, but, fortunately, she hasn't noticed where they had previously been.

She gives me a curious look. "I asked what you were dreaming of."

"I can't recall," I lie, not wanting to confess my odd dream. Then again, I suppose I can attribute its peculiarity to my fever, which is greatly hampering the speed of my thoughts.

Gemma frowns, seemingly wondering whether I am telling the truth. "Are you sure?" she asks.

"Gemma, I am ill, not mad," I reply, more irritably than necessary.

Gemma noticeably recoils at my tone, looking for a moment as though she would very much like to hit me. Then, quite suddenly, her dazzling smile is back, and she speaks in that lovely, caring tone again. "I am sorry, Kartik, I didn't mean to press you. You must feel simply awful." She cocks her head to the side, and makes her face a mask of deep concern and sympathy.

She has a plan. I haven't the slightest idea what her objective is, but the thought that this plan involves me is unsettling. Then again, I have more pressing problems, namely my ominously churning stomach.

"Is something the matter, Kartik?" Gemma asks, although I now sense that her concern is genuine. "You look a bit green."

I nod absently, and suddenly, I lunge around Gemma to grab the bucket that rests by my bed, thanks to Emily. Unable to restrain myself, I vomit rather violently into it.

Gemma jumps up from beside me, her expression of mingled alarm and disgust priceless. If I were not otherwise engaged, I should laugh at her shock. She takes a step back, her eyes transfixed, her hand resting lightly on her stomach, looking very much as if she should be sick herself.

Finally, the meager contents of my stomach fully expelled, I sit up and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, feeling a bit better. I glance at Gemma, who is looking far greener than I could ever have been. "I am so sorry, Gemma, I—"

However, without further ado, she turns and runs out the door, not bothering to close it behind her, and I can hear her retching into the bushes just outside the stables.

Wonderful. Not only have I now vomited in front of Gemma, I have subsequently caused her to be sick as well. My day could hardly _be_ any worse.

Gemma doesn't return for more than twenty minutes, and when she does come back, she is wearing a different gown. I sigh as she sits lightly on the very edge of the end of the bed, as if I am some disgusting parasite she is being forced to endure the company of.

"I apologize, Miss Doyle, I—"

I am interrupted by the door opening. Gemma jumps up as if burned.

Emily closes the door gently behind her, not even having seen Gemma. She turns on her heel, tea tray in hand, a jolly smile on her face, and begins cheerfully, "Good afternoon, Mr.—" Horrified, she freezes. Her eyes, so wide they are nearly perfectly round, travel from Gemma to myself and back so quickly that they are close to blurs. "Oh—miss—I—Mr. Doyle told me to check on Mr. Kartik through the day, t-to make sure he was alright."

Gemma stands a bit taller, I notice, as she seems to size up Emily. Then, pointedly ignoring the maid, she turns back to me with a broad grin and says, "Oh, Mr. Kartik, that's quite alright, it wasn't your fault, of course." And, to mine and Emily's great surprise, she again sits on my bed, much closer to my head this time.

Emily's eyes snap from innocently round to barely slits in a look that could kill as she glares at Gemma the second she turns her back. But then her humble, compliant demeanor returns as she steps into Gemma's view to take the now cold breakfast from my nightstand and replace it with the tray of hot tea and biscuits.

I can all but see the gears turning in Gemma's mind. She glances back and forth, hesitantly, between Emily and myself, I suppose thinking I don't notice.

And suddenly, through the haze of fever that clouds my mind, I realize what is going on. Gemma is _jealous_. Jealous, no less, of _Emily_, her maid. Does this confirm that Gemma has feelings for me?

Completely inadvertently, I let out a rather loud laugh. Emily takes a step away from me, her eyes widening yet again. Gemma looks taken aback and, after a moment's pause, crosses her arms over herself as if she thinks I am laughing at her. I suppose I am, really. Truly, I am unsure what it is about this situation that I find humorous.

More than likely deciding she has had quite enough, Emily takes the tray with my uneaten breakfast and the filthy bucket and exits the room.

Gemma gives me a slightly alarmed glance, and I realize I am still laughing, probably sounding by now like a madman. With this thought, my laughter fades, and I am left in silence, Gemma seated on the edge of my bed, staring at the floor.

I don't know how I manage it, but somehow I fall asleep. When I wake, drenched in sweat and with a pounding headache, Gemma is gone. However, the lamp has been extinguished, and an additional blanket covers me. I smile before falling almost immediately under sleep's spell.

**You can't blame Kartik for his freaky dream. He is feverish. And now Gemma is REALLY jealous (-coughcough- And nauseous:D). As is Emily. I'm seeing a pattern here...**

**I would say I won't update until I get ten more reviews, but that would be cruel. So I'll say I'd really LIKE ten reviews, but if I don't get ten sometime soon, I'll update anyway. I'm such a pushover. :D Please review! **

**I'm listening to Wonderwall by Oasis, which is an awesome Karma song. So is Why Can't I? by Liz Phair. :D**

**--GxK**


	3. Grandmama

**You guys rock for all the reviews! Apologies for the short update. Next chapter will be much longer!**

"Gemma, are you listening to me?" Grandmama stands beside me in my room, where I have been taking a nap ever since I left Kartik, nearly four hours ago. It is now half past five, and I was, just a few minutes ago, unpleasantly awakened by Grandmama, who is in a truly foul mood.

I look up at her and blink rapidly, trying to keep my eyes open, as I am still dreadfully groggy.

Without waiting for an answer, Grandmama plows on about pressing social calls we are to make and how important these are now that I am "out of the schoolroom". The honest answer to her question is no, I haven't heard a word she has said, preferring to sit on my bed, my mind blissfully blank, and let her ramble on. However, Kartik's name causes my mind to snap to attention.

"… I'm afraid that either Mr. Kartik shall have to take up work again, or we shall find a new driver. We haven't time for such laziness, and in the middle of the season—"

"Mr. Kartik is ill," I protest without thinking.

Grandmama looks as if she had forgotten I was alive. Her stern glance seems to scream at me to keep my mouth shut, but I find I need to further defend Kartik.

"Father said he was very ill, but he's only been so for a day, and Father doesn't think that he is being lazy—"

"Well, we have a call to make tomorrow that cannot wait. How do you propose we arrive? In a hansom?" Grandmama snaps, wrinkling her nose at the thought. "What would the Middletons think?"

"The—the Middletons?" I repeat, feeling faint.

"Yes, I've just told you, Gemma, Lady Denby invited us for supper tomorrow."

"Oh, of course. Silly me," I answer, satisfying Grandmama, who continues to prattle on while my stomach twists unpleasantly for the second time today. The prospect of seeing Simon again, for the first time since I turned him down, is unsettling, to say the least.

"I believe your new gown will suffice, as you haven't worn it yet, and we haven't time to buy another one…I shall expect you to be ready at six o'clock sharp tomorrow. We are to arrive at the Middletons' home at six-thirty."

**Dun dun DUN. **

**They're visiting Simon, and Kartik's employment is being questioned. Things just aren't going so well. D: **

**Please review! It'll make me update much sooner. :D**

**--GxK**


	4. Brandy

**This chapter is much longer than the last, as promised. **

**Oh, and I must thank Joanna, for most everything you could possibly think of, including countless discussions, of this and other fics, debates (-coughcough- CANON), and inside jokes.**

"Kartik!" I rest a hand tentatively on his shoulder, shaking him lightly. The fact that he didn't wake when I entered his room this time is slightly troubling. However, he turns groggy eyes to me and props himself up on his elbow when I whisper his name.

"Gemma," he murmurs. He looks much worse than he did earlier, as if he hasn't slept a wink in days.

As I light the lamp beside him, I debate once more how much to tell him. I've been trying to decide whether to inform him of the imminent visit to the Middletons as well as his potential dismissal ever since Grandmama told me, hours ago, as it's now past midnight. When midnight came and my decision was still not made, I decided to simply visit him and choose what to tell him as I went along. And now my mind races as I stand in his room, unsure of what to say first. "Are you feeling any better?" This seems a reasonable inquiry. For what seems like the hundredth time now, I sit down on the edge of his bed.

He lays his head on the pillow again and closes his eyes briefly. "Never felt better," he replies, giving me a small smile. I notice before he closes his eyes again that his pupils are unusually large.

"We're to call on the Middletons tomorrow," I blurt.

He opens his eyes lazily. "The Middletons?" he repeats, sounding confused. I bite my lip; he is so very tired. I should not have awoken him simply to tell him this.

"Yes," I say slowly, truly anxious now. "The Middletons? Simon? The man who—"

"Yes, yes, I know," Kartik snaps. He pauses before sighing and adding, "I'm sorry, Gem. I'm so exhausted."

The use of this nickname takes me off guard. An unbidden smile creeps onto my face. "It's alright. But, Kartik—you have to drive us there." Some of my panic must have seeped into my voice, for his brows knit together in concern.

"Gemma, I don't think your father would like me trying to work again, he was very firm when he told me—"

"I know, but…you just have to. Please, Kartik?"

Something hard and dark flits across Kartik's face; I see it even in the dim glow from the lantern. He sits up, acting as if it's nothing, but I can see how much of a struggle it is for him. It is difficult to see Kartik robbed of his usual unfailing strength. "Worried you won't get to see _Muddleton_ if you haven't got anyone to drive you?"

"What? No, Kartik, I—"

"I don't believe you, Gemma, coming out here in the middle of the night just to convince me to drive you to see that bloody—"

I cut him off sharply, not particularly wanting to hear what he has to say about Simon, as I should probably hear a much more honest opinion than if Kartik was in better health "Kartik, that is _not_ why I am asking you to drive!" I decide against telling him about Grandmama's assertion on his "laziness" as, in his present state, I'm not sure he would take it very well.

"Oh, really? Then why _do_ you want me to, Gemma? You only want to see that fop, I know it!" Kartik attempts to get up, the blankets falling away from his bare torso and causing me to blush furiously, but I push him back down with all of my strength. Despite his weakened state, he is surprisingly strong. He continues to fire insults at Simon, some of them under his breath and some in his normal tone, apparently under the impression that I can't hear him, as he struggles to climb around me. What he wants to stand up for, I haven't any idea.

Finally, after at least a minute of this struggling, I relent and allow him to climb from his bed. He staggers towards the door of his room. Startled, I grab his arm to steady and restrain him. "Kartik, where do you think you're going?" I ask him, interrupting his unending stream of muttered abuse of Simon.

"I'm going to show that Middleton fellow what I think of him," he growls in reply, as if this is the most logical thing in the world. He sways precariously as he speaks.

"Oh, no, you are not!" I reply, pulling him firmly back toward his bed.

"Let go of me!" he snarls, with such ferocity that I nearly do let go.

"Kartik, you are in no fit state to confront Simon, and you haven't any reason to, either!"

"Oh, yes, I do!" he snaps. "He's trying to steal you away from me!"

"He—what?" I am not sure I have heard Kartik correctly. "Kartik, please, just lie down. If you lie down, you can show Simon exactly what you think of him tomorrow," I add as an afterthought, hoping that tomorrow Kartik will not still be intent upon getting to Simon.

To my bewilderment, Kartik stops struggling against me and appears to consider this. He calmly allows me to lead him back into bed, where I pull the blankets over him and am reminded, oddly enough, of a mother caring for her sick child. As I sit on the bed beside him, I catch sight of the photograph at his bedside and, for the first time, register its subjects. Shocked, I seize the framed portrait and hold it next to the lantern for a closer look. In it, an Indian man stands beside a child of perhaps eight, a young boy. On the man's other side is a beautiful woman in a silk sari holding a small baby, probably around the age of two, with a full head of black curls.

"Kartik, who are these people?" I ask, showing him the photograph.

He smiles, a beautiful smile, strikingly resembling that of the man in the photograph. "My parents," he mumbles, still wearing that charming grin. "And Amar. And me."

"I didn't know you had a photograph of your family," I reply, replacing it on the nightstand.

"No," Kartik agrees, now frowning thoughtfully. "I never told you about it." One of his arms wraps surreptitiously around my waist and, quite suddenly, pulls me backwards. "Kartik!" I squeal, now lying across his stomach. I am unable, however, to stem a fit of giggles, at what I am unsure.

He murmurs softly, something that sounds awfully like "Love you". I stop giggling immediately. Was that really what he said? Or did I simply hear wrong? I sit up and look back down at him. However, his features are now smooth and calm, his breathing deep and steady. He is fast asleep.

Gazing down at him, I cannot resist stroking a stray curl gently away from his peaceful face. He smiles in his sleep, and before thinking about what I am doing, I lean down and kiss him lightly on the forehead.

It is only as I rise to leave the room that my foot hits something solid, made of glass, on the floor beside the bed. Bending down to pick up the object, I find an empty brandy bottle beside Kartik's bed. Sighing, I think how much of Kartik's odd behavior this explains, in addition to that which can be attributed to his illness and resulting exhaustion. I wonder how he obtained a bottle of brandy, even for medicinal purposes. With a stab of resentment, I think of Emily bringing it to him.

I steal out the door quietly, not wanting to wake Kartik now that I have finally coaxed him back to sleep.

**Hmm...this was kind of a crazy chapter. But tons of fun to write!**

**Please review! It makes my day!**

**--GxK**


	5. Simon Middleton

**Alright, you guys are AWESOME for all the reviews! Enjoy!**

**I'm not Libba Bray!**

The next morning is quite a bore, as true preparations for our visit to the Middletons have not begun. There is not very much talking at breakfast or lunch. After lunch, I make yet another visit to the stables, a bit wary of what I will find there after the tedious encounter of last night, including the discovery of the brandy bottle.

When I enter Kartik's room, he is still asleep. However, his half-eaten lunch sits on the nightstand. I draw the curtains to let in the sun's warming light, and he stirs a bit but doesn't wake.

Sighing in exasperation, I sit on his bed. "Kartik!" I half-whisper, almost regretting disturbing him.

He groans, rolling over so that he is facing me. His eyes open slowly, as if it is a huge effort. He smiles slightly at me. "Gemma," he mumbles. Moaning again, he continues, "I have an awful headache."

"Perhaps it is the aftereffect of the brandy you consumed yesterday," I reply.

"Brandy?" he repeats, uncomprehendingly. Then, quite abruptly, his eyes widen in recollection. "How did you know I had brandy?"

"I was here last night. Can't you recall?" I ask, somewhat amused.

He furrows his brows in concentration. "Not at all…what were you doing here?"

"I came to ask you to drive us to the Middletons today," I reply, leaning away from him slightly on the chance that he becomes angry again.

He frowns and coughs roughly. "I…honestly, Gemma, I would, but—"

"Kartik, you have to!" I pause, a ridiculously devious idea occurring to me. Deciding to act upon it, I add, "You agreed to it last night."

Kartik hesitates. "Did I? Well, I'm not sure, Gemma…"

"I think you should be there…just in case. After all, it _is_ the Middletons." _It _is_ Simon_. Even if this is part of the truth, I am taunting Kartik with the unsaid, and I despise myself for it.

This seems to work, for Kartik replies after only a moment's pause, "I shall try, Gemma. I cannot promise anything."

I sigh in relief. "Thank you, Kartik. I should inform Grandmama, then," I say, standing.

Kartik sighs softly behind me as I shut the door, and I feel awful for manipulating him so. However, I remind myself, it is for his own good, so that he may keep his job. An unbidden voice in the back of my mind whispers, _Yes, but do you want him to keep his job for his benefit—or for yours?_

When I pass the kitchen on my way to my bedroom, Emily rushes out. "Miss, your grandmother said to begin getting you ready for your call tonight."

"Already?" I snap, irritated at the prospect of so many hours of preparation for a visit I am dreading so much.

"Yes, miss," Emily replies.

For the next few hours, I am subjected to the mercy of the servants and my grandmother as I am molded into ladylike perfection. By six o'clock, I am entering the parlor in a taffeta gown of deepest green, Simon's amethyst necklace, quite against my will, fastened securely around my neck in place of my amulet. Tom and Father are having a discussion over some affair at Bethlem, but both of them rise when they catch sight of me. "You are quite the lady, my dear," Father says, taking my arm. Grandmama, shortly behind me, beams in approval as if I am something of her creation.

It is a balmy summer evening, and when we step outside, I am for some reason surprised to see Kartik standing, in his proper uniform, by the open carriage door. I give him a smile and a barely perceptible nod of thanks.

As he helps me in, Father laughs exuberantly and says jokingly, "My boy, you seem determined to work."

Kartik looks better than he did upon my earlier visit, but he is noticeably unsteady on his feet, and I can somehow tell that his smile is tense and forced.

On the way to the Middletons, Father and Tom resume their discussion of a scandal having something to do with a doctor at Bethlem, and Grandmama joins in. I am left to stare petulantly out the window of the carriage until, far too soon, Grandmama is saying, "Come along, Gemma, we've arrived." As I step out of the carriage, my gloved hand in Kartik's, I note with concern that he is looking weaker and paler after the drive. I throw him a fretful glance before taking my Father's arm again and ascending the steps into the Middleton home, where we are led by a butler into the parlor.

There are quite a few people in the room, all chatting merrily. I spot Simon immediately, directly across the room, deep in conversation with several gentlemen. He looks up as if he can sense my gaze, and he gives me a good-natured grin before turning back to his conversation.

Lady Denby is upon us at once, greeting us warmly and introducing us to the other guests. I am left to chat with Grandmama and a group of dreadfully dull ladies who seem to only be interested in their country homes and the latest scandals among London society.

When the butler announces dinner, I feel as if I should cheer at the reprieve. As I start towards the dining room, I feel an arm looped through mine and turn to see Simon calmly falling into step beside me. "Good evening, Miss Doyle."

"Mr. Middleton," I answer, nodding courteously. "How do you do?"

"Fine, thank you." Simon grins. "I trust you are well?"

"Indeed." I look away pointedly, as I am not overjoyed that Simon has taken it upon himself to be so daring as to act like nothing has changed between us since the last time I had dinner here, when he was still courting me.

To my further displeasure, he sits beside me at the dinner table. On my other side, Grandmama looks very pleased with the seating arrangement. No doubt she thinks that by the end of the night I shall again be under Simon's spell.

Tom, too, is looking rather smug as he tells tales of Bethlem and the patients there, and I am again reminded painfully of our last dinner in this home.

As I am sitting directly opposite a window, I have a beautiful view of the property surrounding the house. I glance briefly out the window during a tedious discussion of fox hunting and, to my shock, see none other than Kartik, being led, or rather, dragged, by two maids into the servant's quarters of the house, just before they are out of my view.

Such is my alarm that I stand quite suddenly, nearly knocking my chair over backwards. The conversation comes to an abrupt halt, and Lady Denby says with concern, "Is something the matter, Miss Doyle?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Grandmama purposely not looking at me out of shame. I am suddenly mortified and haven't any good excuse for my peculiar behavior. "I—I was simply thanking our most gracious Lord for this evening. And our meal. By rising to show my—humility before the Lord." This could possibly be the worst thought-out lie ever to come out of my mouth. My cheeks burn at the thought of being gossiped about.

"How very—Christian of you," says Lord Denby, causing me to release my breath in a sigh of relief that I hope is imperceptible. I sit down again, and conversation slowly recommences. This time, I listen attentively, trying to seem genuinely interested in endlessly dull discussions.

"What did you see?" Simon whispers to me, on the pretense of leaning forward, the better to hear an account of a hunting trip.

I turn to him, purposely dashing any hopes he had of keeping the conversation a whispered secret. "What do you mean?" My voice is unintentionally quiet.

"Out the window." Simon gestures to the window through which I saw the maid and Kartik. "When you stood so suddenly. What caused you to become so very grateful for your supper and the evening?" he taunts, a charming smile on his face.

He is surely able to see the flush that creeps up my cheeks. "What are you implying, Mr. Middleton?" I hiss in reply, my indignant behavior hopefully masking my desperate hope that Simon did not see Kartik and my curiosity at what I saw. Was Kartik too ill to remain outside?

"I am implying that, while a well-spun tale, I'm unsure of the motive behind your unexpected display of, what was it? Humility before God." Simon's smug smile does nothing to ease my temper.

"I assure you, Mr. Middleton, I was in earnest," I reply in a forced calm voice. I take a last bite of my dessert, leaving a fair amount on my plate. However, I am not leaving it to show my delicate appetite; I'm simply too anxious to eat the rest. Finally, dinner draws to a close, and it is time for the men and women to go their separate ways.

Simon again takes my arm, leading me to where Lady Denby stands, surrounded by a small crowd of ladies as she ushers them to the parlor. "Mother, Miss Doyle and I were just discussing novels, and I would like to show her a few I think might be of particular interest to her."

I give Simon a suspicious glance, as we've discussed nothing of the sort. I am certain that his approaching his mother while she is distracted is no accident.

Unfortunately, luck seems to be on his side, for I am not even sure Lady Denby has heard his request. "Yes, of course, Simon," she answers absentmindedly as she is fawned over by at least three women.

Simon gives that winning smile again as he leads me firmly away from the ladies. However, when he finally releases me to close a door and lock us into a room, we are not in the library. In fact, we are in what appears to be a rather cluttered bedroom, a maid's, most likely. There is a messy pile of blankets on the unmade bed. It is very dimly lit, and the memory of the Worthingtons' Christmas ball floods my mind. I spin around, only to crash squarely into Simon. I stumble from the impact, and Simon wraps his arms around me.

"Careful, Gemma," he whispers, kissing me gently on the mouth before I can think to stop him.

"Simon, I—" He interrupts me with another, firmer kiss. As my mouth is open from trying to speak, his tongue slips past my lips and explores my mouth. At the same time, I feel his hand unbuttoning one of my gloves.

I try to pull away, but one of his arms still encircles me, and he only pulls me closer, deepening the kiss. I inhale the scent of him, a mix of barber's balm, citrus, and something else I can't identify. It is calming, having his aroma inside of me, and I forget momentarily why I wanted to pull away as he trails kisses down my neck.

"Get away from her," snarls a husky male voice from only a few feet away.

**So...what do you think:D**

**I am unbelievably hyper! (Chocolate-covered espresso beansdelicious but BAAAAD idea)**

**GxK**


	6. Saving you

**You guys are totally awesome! I love reviews!**

_"Get away from her," snarls a husky male voice from only a few feet away. _

Simon and I practically spring away from each other before even glancing at the intruder. "Kartik!" I breathe.

He stands, swaying precariously, looking as if he is barely conscious, and holding a knife pointed threateningly at Simon. Or rather, in Simon's general direction. Kartik appears to be so feverish that he cannot hold the knife steady.

Simon gives me an amused glance. "Isn't this your _coachman_, Gemma?"

I nod absently, not finding this situation amusing in the slightest.

"I say, your servants are loyal." Simon laughs, attempting unsuccessfully to make light of the circumstances. "Are you quite alright, old chap?"

Kartik falls to his knees, dropping the knife. Abandoning pretense, I run forward and kneel in front of him, placing my hands on his shoulders. "Kartik," I say, instinctively whispering. "What are you _doing_?"

"Saving you," he murmurs, slumping against me.

"Kartik!" I groan, trying to get him to remain upright. He either cannot or will not stop leaning against me.

I turn around. "Simon, help me get him to the bed," I command, almost without a second thought.

Simon takes Kartik's other arm, and most of his weight, and helps me lay him gently on the bed. I now see that what I took for a pile of blankets on the bed was actually Kartik.

Simon casually wanders over to the doorway as I kneel beside the bed to whisper to Kartik. He is lying with his eyes closed, half-asleep or half-conscious, I do not know which.

"Kartik," I say softly.

"Hm?" His eyes do not open, and I am afraid it was unwise of me to ask him to drive us here; he seems utterly spent.

"What are you doing here?"

Kartik opens his eyes. "I drove you here. Remember, Gemma?" His lips curl upwards as he says this, and I am amazed that he has the energy and the audacity to mock me in light of the current circumstances. However, even speaking seems to exhaust him, as he closes his eyes again.

"You know what I mean, Kartik," I say, with more scorn that I intended.

"The maids insisted on bringing me inside."

"Why?"

He opens his eyes yet again, probably to gauge my reaction. "I blacked out," he says very quietly, a resentful look on his face, as if he is disgusted by this show of weakness.

"I'm so very sorry. I shouldn't have asked you to drive us here. It was most insensitive of me."

He hasn't time to respond before Simon calls from the doorway, "Someone is coming."

Glancing apologetically at Kartik, I stand and follow Simon quickly through the barely ajar door of the next room, which is so dark I cannot even tell what sort of room it is.

Just as I get inside the room, I hear dainty footsteps round the corner, and the door into the room from which we've come opens and closes. Immediately, Simon takes my arm and guides me down the hall towards the parlor, making no more attempts to lead me off in private.

As we stroll along in silence, I notice him looking at me in such an odd way that I feel as if he can see straight through me. Finally, he asks, "Are you that kind to all your servants, Miss Doyle?"

My breath catches in my throat. He is suspicious. And why shouldn't he be, after what he's just seen? I take a deep breath and give the safest answer I can muster. "Yes, of course. They are people, after all."

"I see. You know, I've the strangest story about that fellow." Simon says, gesturing in the direction where I know, just a few rooms away, Kartik is being tended to by a maid. "I was leaving the Athenaeum one evening, and he was causing quite the commotion just outside. Claiming some young lady was the Duchess of Kent to steal a hansom cab and acting mad, kicking up his heels and such.

"Really?" I reply, my throat gone dry. "Who was he claiming was the Duchess of Kent?"

Simon's voice is dripping with condescension as he says, "I'm afraid I never saw her. Probably a lover, though I hope she wasn't English. What a scandal that would cause. Ruined, gossiped about for life, cut off from society. A pity."

This is not mere discussion. It is a warning, and it has my blood running cold. Simon's story was a cruel test, and I have not answered correctly.

However, we have arrived at the parlor, and Simon opens the door for me and departs with no more than a polite nod.

I am thrust into the room where the rest of the ladies sit, drinking tea and discussing everything from decorating their country homes to recent weddings and engagements.

"Ah, Miss Doyle. I trust you found the library satisfactory?" I had nearly forgotten Simon's lie. Lady Denby's question brings back not only the lie but Simon's motive for lying.

"Indeed. It is marvelous."

This elicits a proud smile from Lady Denby, and I am free to be seated and mindlessly observe the conversation while feigning interest.

Finally, the guests begin to leave. Grandmama regretfully bids Lady Denby good-bye, and I smile as I make my polite farewells, thinking that I could hardly be more grateful to be leaving.

At the carriage, to my great relief, Kartik is waiting, though looking much the worse for wear. When he helps me in, in fact, he barely touches my hand and does not steady me at all. I have a feeling I am helping him to balance more than he is helping me.

His driving is rather hazardous, and Father, obviously unsure of Kartik's expertise with the carriage, at least tonight, never once removes his eyes from the street. I cannot say I am sorry for this.

When we reach the house it is very late. Father exits the carriage first. Tom is having a very involved discussion with Grandmama, and I am quite unfortunately trapped in the carriage, unless I intend on stepping over them. Finally, they exit, and I follow them gratefully but without any help whatsoever. Confused, I look about to find that Father has pulled a distinctly unsteady Kartik aside to have a quiet discussion.

I can't hear most of what Father is saying, but the few words I catch lead me to believe that Kartik is being scolded for driving us in his current condition, after Father "expressly warned" him not to work until he was feeling better. I proceed into the house, trying to ignore the fact that this only makes me feel guiltier concerning my earlier manipulation of Kartik.

We are all very tired, and Grandmama, Father, and Tom go to bed almost immediately, while I sit, wide awake, on my bed, waiting until I am sure everyone is asleep.

However, I am literally forced into bed mere minutes later by Mrs. Jones, who dresses me in my nightgown and half shoves me under the covers, no doubt eager to get to sleep herself. As I am exhausted, I allow myself to slip under the heavy stupor of sleep without a fight.

When I awake, it is nearly one o'clock in the morning. Still groggy, I rise and fumble for my robe.

A bit later, I am fumbling in the pitch black darkness for the matches and lamp on Kartik's nightstand. When I finally strike a match, its light floods the room. I light the lamp and sit on the bed next to Kartik, who hasn't moved a muscle since I came in the room.

He looks years younger in sleep, almost like a child. His eyelids twitch, and I wonder what he is dreaming about.

Gently, I rest a hand on his bare shoulder. His skin is sweltering. "Kartik," I say softly. I notice that his black curls are plastered to his forehead with sweat.

His eyes open slowly. "Gemma," he murmurs, giving me an enchanting smile.

I return the smile. "Are you feeling any better?"

He shakes his head slightly.

"You've a terribly high fever," I tell him, putting a hand to his searing forehead.

"You're freezing, Gemma," he says, tilting his head to press my hand to his cheek and closing his eyes.

"No, you're just very hot, Kartik," I reply. I move my hand from his forehead to my lap. "I'm so sorry for asking you to drive us."

"Better that I did," he mutters, his eyes still lightly closed.

"What do you mean?" I ask without thinking.

His eyes snap open, and he scowls. "Would you rather Middleton have compromised you?"

"Oh. I'm sorry about that as well, Kartik. I didn't—" I trail off, unsure of how to complete this sentence. "I mean, I should have stopped him. It was a mistake," I finish.

Kartik doesn't answer, just closes his eyes again, as if he is too tired to keep them open.

Concerned, I place my hand on his forehead again. His fever seems even worse. "Kartik?"

He raises his eyebrows in response.

"Perhaps you should try to cool off." I wait for a reply, but he doesn't indicate that he's heard me. "Kartik!"

"Hm?" He doesn't open his eyes or move.

"I'll be right back." I rise and leave the tiny room.

**Oh, man, you guys have no idea how hard it was not to crack a majorly mood-ruining joke when Gemma told Kartik he was "very hot". In fact, I almost cut that part because I kept cracking up every time I saw it. Which is not good when I'm writing in the middle of Geometry. It tends to attract weird looks and that annoying "Is something funny?" from Mrs. Cooper. Well, DUH.**

**So...Kartik busting up Gemma and Simon? Simon _hinting_ at things? Kartik still sick? Sicker, even? I know you have opinions. All you have to do is REVIEW and tell me about them!**

**Probably just one chapter left!**

**--GxK**


	7. Chapter 7

**WHOO! Last chapter! I'm sad it's over, but also a little relieved. For better or worse, here's the end. **

I feel as if I should burst into flames. The room is unbearably hot.

The fog of fever has made me delirious, and it is only in the moments when the fog lifts that I realize I am not in my right mind.

I see Gemma leave, and I register that I don't want her to leave. I want her to stay here with me.

But then I am pulled under, and I am not sure whether I am dreaming or not. Suddenly I am reliving the night's events for what seems like the hundredth time.

I am sitting in the Doyles' carriage, waiting eagerly for the evening to be over and watching the guests in the dining room through the distant windows.

Then I am talking to the flirtatious maid who approaches me under the pretense of bringing a cup of coffee. And then my vision seems to fill with shadows and slip away, and I glimpse the maid running for help before surrendering to the darkness.

I am coming to in the carriage, the maid and a friend she has fetched beside themselves fussing over me.

The scene rushes by in a blur, and the next thing I am aware of is waking up in the maid's room to hear the click of the lock.

Mustering my strength, I sit up just in time to see Gemma turn and run straight into Middleton, who wraps his arms around her and kisses her. Outraged, I draw a small knife from my belt and use every bit of strength I have left to stand and take a step towards them. Still several paces away, I growl, "Get away from her."

They spring apart, looking satisfyingly alarmed, and Middleton turns to me. "Kartik? Kartik!" I am unsure of how he knows my name, but that is beside the point. I would dearly love to strangle him with my bare hands for touching Gemma, and that is currently all that I can think about. In fact, I lunge at him in order to do just that, dropping the knife.

He gasps and dodges me. In my fury, I aim a blow at him. He lets out a high-pitched cry as my fist makes contact with his head. Encouraged, I continue to throw punches, but he dodges my fatigued attempts.

"Kartik! Kartik, stop! It's me! Gemma!"

Gemma? Is Middleton trying to confuse me?

Suddenly, and completely inadvertently, I open my eyes. I had not realized my eyes were closed.

Gemma is standing next to the bed, holding a wet rag. When I open my eyes, she sits cautiously on the edge of the bed.

"Gemma," I sigh in recognition. My voice sounds weak and hoarse. I spot a nasty bruise forming along her cheekbone. "What happened?" I ask, concerned.

She puts a hand to her cheek, feeling it gingerly. "You hit me." She sounds surprised even as she says it.

"I did?" I ask, partially confused and exceptionally horrified.

She laughs lightly. "When you were sleeping. You've the most shocked expression on your face."

"Did I really hit _you_?"

Gemma looks amused, but I could hardly find the situation less amusing. "Yes…who were you under the impression you hit?"

"I don't know," I mutter, my dream seeming embarrassing now.

Gemma gives me a sympathetic smile. She nearly glows when she smiles.

I return her smile, fighting a nearly overwhelming urge to again succumb to the fever.

Gemma must sense this, for she puts the cool rag to my face. It eases the burning of my body, and I lean my head towards her hand and the cool relief and close my eyes, not realizing that once my eyes are closed, the onslaught of exhaustion becomes irresistible.

* * *

I don't realize Kartik has fallen asleep again until I attempt to move my hand, which he has pinned against the pillow by resting his head on it, and he doesn't move.

He is flushed and sweating profusely. He presses his face against my head with a small, incoherent mutter. I smooth his curls away from his face and gently turn his head to the other side so that I can place the rag on his forehead again.

His eyelids flutter briefly. "Gemma?" His voice is heartbreaking, weak and miserable.

"I'm here, Kartik," I reply softly. "I won't leave you."

**Two Weeks Later**

"Gemma?"

I open my eyes. "Oh, it's _you_," I reply sullenly, coughing a bit. "Here to give me another hideous illness?"

He laughs. "I'm only here to see if you are feeling any better."

"No," I groan, leaning back on my pillows. "Only worse."

He sits next to me on the bed. "You'll be better in no time at all."

"Maybe," I reply. "But promise me one thing."

"Hmm," he says, playfully pretending to consider this, "What would this promise entail?"

"No matter how badly I feel," I begin, "_don't_ give me brandy."

**Please review!**


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